VittlesVamp

Brooklyn 'Za

I have no patience. When I pass by the lines snaking out of DUMBO's famous Grimaldi's Pizzeria, I just keep on walking.

Their 'za is wonderful -- but my time is worth more than a slice or even a whole pie.

So, I was hopeful when Ignazio's opened its doors to offer a bit of brick-oven competition. And, as it happens, I wandered in one day with a friend and her two-year old daughter, famished and in need of a respite.

At that moment Iganzio's was perfect.

There were seats available. It had air conditioning. And, most importantly, the little girl -- mesmerized by the live jazz band -- ceased whining.

By the time the pizza arrived, we attacked. It seemed to be one of the most glorious pizzas I'd ever devoured. I promised that I would be back. Back soon.

Plus, besides the lack of lines, they had a serious advantage over Grimaldi's: delivery.

I kept thinking about that pie. I finally succumbed to its memory one evening with a pal in from out of town. Sitting in my apartment with a salad and the requisite bottle of vino, I called and placed an order.

Above is a snapshot of the pretty pie we received 20 minutes later, scattered with fresh basil and bubbly cheese.

It looked good. It tasted good. But just good. Not great. Clearly the mind has a way of playing tricks on you. Even on your tastebuds.

Nonetheless, I live in Brooklyn. I demand great when it comes to my pizza, beer, bagels and much, much more.

Suddenly that line at Grimaldi's isn't looking so long after all.

Tomato Aspic With Pickled Stringbeans & Other Adventures

Did you think I was all talk and no action? If so, you're gravely mistaken.

No matter how vile the notion of Tomato Aspic sounded to my fragile Yankee ears, I was bound and determined to whip up a version for my recent Bayou boys supper. A particularly fine Bayou boy had made the request and I hate to disappoint anyone with a Southern accent.

And, there it is above, in all it's Creole-seasoned glory, accompanied by Pickled Stringbeans, Chilled Baby Shrimp and a dipping sauce of mayo and creme fraiche. I also provided guests with a cold shot of vodka to go with. Sorta like a deconstructed, wiggly, jiggly Bloody Mary.

Will I brave the concept of aspic and gelatin molds again? Probably not.

But, I will most certainly brave my evening's dessert again -- Bananas Foster. In fact, fire extinguisher at my side, I daringly set it aflame. I wasn't exactly a flambe goddess that night, but it did spark a nice blue flame for a moment. Plus, it was decadently delicious -- and didn't wiggle or jiggle even a teeny, tiny bit.

Pedlar Lust

I couldn't resist. The exotic and intoxicating aroma in the air grabbed my attention. I swiveled in my bar seat and while saying "Do you mind?" grabbed a fellow bar patron's bag. Not a purse or anything. A bag of beans. Coffee beans. Stumptown Coffee Beans.

One deep inhale and I knew I needed more than its perfume.

Although brewing a pot right there at my local watering hole was tempting, I opted for restraint. Instead, the next morning I journeyed to Cobble Hill's Cafe Pedlar for a taste of the java divine.

Divine it was. So divine that a single brilliant Latte -- as pictured above -- wasn't enough. I bought my own bag.

Coach and Kate Spade be damned. A bag of Stumptown Coffee Beans is where it's at.

Awry

So, I did a stupid thing. At the same time I decided to renovate my apartment, I decided to renovate the back-end of my blog.

It's taken a while for my apartment to get back in order -- and same goes for VittlesVamp.

Tasty morsels to follow...

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I Love You Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the big day. The day that the 50 Henry Wine Bar re-opens in Brooklyn Heights, under new leadership from the folks behind the Henry's End Restaurant and the neighborhood food market Cranberry's. Word on the street is that the wine list will be impressive and the menu tempting.

But, the real draw: They are planning to be open morning, noon and night.

Goodness knows, if they're serving wine throughout, they'll be extremely busy and I'll be a devoted regular.

A Stinky Thing To Do

Clearly, the person who committed this crime is a whey-ward soul who desperately needs help -- as well as the chance to spend some quality time alone with a hunk of Epoisses in a very small, tightly enclosed cell.